A North Tower Night
by Elizabeth Gordon
Summary: Ginny and Draco meet. AngstRomance, rated M. Who's really suffering the most? Outsider pov, then Ginny's, then Draco's.
1. The Night

She is angry.

Now that she's had time to think, she's resolved to end this. In her mind's eye, his pale lips, which become red when the meet hers, are only lips. His proper silver hair, which can only be made wild by her fair hands, isn't as intoxicating in the light of day. His eyes, sorrowful eyes, no longer reflect her pain. His broad shoulders, her anchor and support when he takes her in a darkened closet. But those hands of his, one cupping her cheek as he desperately claims her mouth, while the other snakes through her crimson hair, or one grasping her shoulder and the other on her bak pressing her lithe body in his strong one, yes, those hands she'll never forget.

Well, a girl isn't made of stone.

So she is angry, even as she stumbles into him at the turn of a corner in the dark of night, outside the castle. He is leaning against the outside wall, hands in pockets, robes pushed back, shirt wrinkled, tie loosened, head thrown back as he stares at the stars, a cigarette dangling from his god-forsakened lips. Unlit, the cigarette, as she made him quit once, along with so many promises, only the lesser of which he kept. The sight of him doesn't erase her anger, not quite anyway, but it makes her throat clench. She licks her lips, breath now ragged, her shaky hands run through her hair, the contrast of the cool breeze and heated skin making her shiver. She swallows, looking at his hips placed ostensibly forward, knowing full well that under her skirt she is wet, and has been from the moment she started thinking of him.

"Draco."

Her rasping voice awakes him, in more ways than one. His eyes burn though hers, his hands grasp her shoulders, his breath hot on her ear.

"I missed you."

And now he waits, he always does, and she cannot resist. She never could. His lips graze her neck, her cheekbone, and then roughly press against hers, his burning tongue invading her mouth. She can only hold on to his shoulders and touch as he takes her against the wall of the norht tower, stone at her back and inside her, cold seeping though her clothes and his eyes, scathing heat prying a whimper from her lips, arching her neck back, and now she sees stars, and he groansher name, cigarette and vodka on his breath (But he quit, she thinks), hands on her hips, mind lost, love gone.

"Ginny."

As he comes, as she cries, as they kiss, as he sinks deeper in her hell, in his punishement.

Later she will ghost through her dorm, answering her friends' questions with a statement.

"It was one of those nights... a north tower night."

And she cries.


	2. The Girl

A very nice reviewer pointed out she though this story would be best served as a monologue. Can't help but agree. I think I might write a Draco point of view tonight also, to complete this. I'm really happy with how this turned out, and thank you to Genevieve who's reviewed almost all my fics :) Merci.

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I am prowling the Hogwarts halls, lost in the North tour, one of the few places where I figured he wouldn't venture. He is probably sleepless to, hiding, or sulking, in the dungeons where I certainly would not be seen.

Even with the weigh of the castle between me and him, I can't seem to be free. I can still feel his burning hands on me, in me. I still carry the taste of his sensuous lips, the smooth taste that is him, mixed with cigarette smoke and the tang of danger. My throat is parched, and my eyes are wet, and even as I wrap my robes closer around me and close my eyes, the thought of him consumes me.

We are too different to possibly fall in love, but I can't live without his touch, and judging from his yearning looks, neither can he. Even now, curled up on the cold floor, exposed to the night wind, I am warmed by the memory of our latest encounter, only hours ago.

I couldn't sleep, surprisingly, and I sneaked outside for some air. When I turned a corner and saw him, I was only half-surprised. We always seem drawn to each other. He turned from the sky to look at me, his eyes almost feverish, his lips apart, a burning cigarette in his hand. We stood transfixed by each other, both unwilling to lower ourselves to each other's level, both longing for each other's touch.

He gave in first this time. Ha. Short-lived victory, for as soon as his lips crushed upon mine I lost my wits and only the most basic instincts remained. Only fleeting images and emotions remain, as always. We talked about it once, how it seems we get so drunk on each other's feel that we forget our names.

Nevertheless.

I remember his hand in my hair. His tongue in my mouth, and mine in his. My back hitting the stone wall, my robes pushed back, my hands finding his belt. My feet leaving the ground, my only support his shoulders, and the night sky above us a looming, forboding presence. I remember feeling the need for him to be in me, even as I straightened my skirt and buttoned up my shirt.

I remember walking away, hearing him curse, looking back to see him crumble to the ground, head in hands.

And now I'm here. I'm here and I miss him. I want him. Gods, I want him...


	3. The Guy

I'm scared.

I Draco Malfoy, am scared. Not frightened, no, that would be pathetic. But I am scared... I'm scared of what I might do. And of the total lack of control I seem to have now. My life revolves around her, and yet doesn't. I dream of her at night, but cannot keep her. I seek her during the day, but keep losing her.

It would be foolish to think I love her. I don't. She's younger, ridiculously cheerful, a traitor to our kind. But she is beautiful... she makes me lose my mind. I want to forever smell her skin, kiss her lips, possess her and be possessed by her.

Lord... what am I doing? I try to avoid her, to find another obsession, but just a brush of her hand makes me forget all but her.

Tonight, at least, I can think a bit more clearly, in the cold pure air of the grounds. My light-headedness for once isn't due to her white hands on my chest but to a muggle cigarette. My head hurts... stars twirling in a sea of red, of her red hair, drives me crazy.

The eye of the hurricane passes as I hear a sound and turn to her small frame. I can feel my sanity slipping a little more away as my eyes roam over her lithe body. She is leaning on the wall, eyes glazed behind her dark red hair, a glimpse of fair skin at her neck, her soft breasts enclosed in a damned Gryffindor uniform, that dratted skirt, her legs. Breathing becomes harder, and as I look in her eyes and see the same desperation I feel, I give in once more to the addiction I bear.

My hands bury in her gorgeous hair and I desperately kiss her, looking for some sense in her mouth, in her blouse, in her skirt. Reason slips away into her cleavage, disappears in the curve of her waist and her smooth thighs. I deserve this I realize. This torture, this constant ache, I asked for it. Like the damned follower I am I take my punishment without a word, her back against the tower, me in her, feelings and senses enhanced to a painful level. She grips my shoulders and I feel caged. I almost sob with frustration as I come in her.

When it's over I fade back to my dull ache, I fall to the ground, eyes wide with terror and sorrow, senses so mangled I don't even know if I'm on the ground as I lose my last bit of self in the night sky.

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Last installement. Thanks to all that read this, and if you want to leave a comment to help me improve my writing go for it! xx


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